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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28738377">our gazes connecting across time and space</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chahakyn/pseuds/chahakyn'>chahakyn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Canon-Typical Death, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, M/M, Reincarnated Soulmates AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:20:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28738377</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chahakyn/pseuds/chahakyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He pauses and looks Nicolò up and down, eyes lingering on his sword. “Fight with me. I’ve seen you battle in another life, but I want to see you in this one.”</p><p>“You want to die at my hands again? I would think once is enough.”</p><p>“Who says I will be the one dying?” Yusuf’s grin is a little too sharp to be kind, and yet Nicolò can’t help feeling just a little excited as Yusuf draws his own sword. He doesn’t understand what’s going on between them, why they keep coming back to each other again and again. But a fight, a battle with weapons and wit and skill; this is something he understands well.</p><p>--</p><p>Nicolò and Yusuf come together time and time again, in this life, the next, and the countless ones after that. </p><p>(Or 6 times they watch each other die and 1 time they do it together)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Background Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>our gazes connecting across time and space</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>old guard was so GOOD!! first new movie i watched in 2021 and it's only fitting that it's the first fic i post for the year!</p><p>title adapted from the translated lyrics of <a href="youtube.com/watch?v=bmOtxHX-zAw&amp;ab_channel=ENHYPEN-Topic"> Flicker</a> by ENHYPEN</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1.</p><p>The first time is always the most impressionable, even when it’s not the best. The first step, first kiss, first love.</p><p>First death.</p><p>Nicolò’s death is as unremarkable as it is impressionable. A sword through his chest, a blow so strong that he can feel his ribs cracking under the force of it. It’s painful, but he expected no less for fighting in the Crusades. So, he does the only thing he really can do: he draws his own sword and returns the favor, skillfully slitting the throat of his killer. It’s a clumsier job than his usual work, but it’s good enough.</p><p>As Nicolò falls to his knees, grunting at wave of pain that ripples out from where the sword protrudes, he looks at his killer. Warm brown eyes widen as they meet his gaze and in that moment, something he never knew existed inside of him rears its head. Things slot into place in his mind at alarming speed, and suddenly, he knows that though they have never met before, they will meet again and again and <em>again</em> as long as there is earth to stand upon and men to kill. They will find each other because they must, because something in him burns with the knowledge that they are fated to cross paths like the branches of a vine twining around a column—</p><p>And suddenly, the feeling is gone. The life behind the man’s eyes fades, and Nicolò is left staring at a dead body. Everything seems…colder, somehow. As though bereft of light and warmth and purpose. But it doesn’t matter, Nicolò supposes, as he slumps to the ground in a haze of pain and resignation. He too will be discarding his life soon enough.</p><p> </p><p>2.</p><p>When Nicolò wakes, it’s to a new life. A new time, new place, new language. He doesn’t understand why or how, and he plagues his mother with questions as a child. He does so until he learns that the scant memories he has of a life past are unique and dangerous, and that it would be wisest to keep them to himself.</p><p>It makes for a rather irritating childhood, to be young and fragile where he once enjoyed the mobility and power of adulthood. On top of that, he carries some knowledge of a previous life, of war and religion and death; all things a farmhand like him should have no awareness of. He shudders at things that he can’t explain, and never feels quite like he belongs. But deep within him, there is something that he can’t quite recall. A purpose, a meaning that this life seems to be devoid of. He puzzles through it in the day, and dreams of it at night. A man he can’t quite see, a hand he can’t quite reach. A sword that he remembers the weight of, but for reasons he cannot recall.</p><p>It isn’t until he locks eyes with a weary traveler in the town square that he suddenly remembers.</p><p>“<em>You</em>.”</p><p>He walks toward the man he now recognizes, the man who stabbed him with a sword and the man who Nicolò slit the throat of. He is here now, in this time and land, when he should be dead. Where they both should be dead. Nicolò’s grip tightens on the shovel in his hand, and for the first time in this life, he regrets being a mere farmhand, armed with tools of trade rather than the sword he longs for. But he is nothing if not adaptable and adapt he must, as he sees the man warily push his cloak back to expose a sword hanging from his belt.</p><p>It’s not a fair fight; youth has made him clumsy and inexperienced in matters of battle, like a colt walking on new legs. The man has him flat on the dirt road in what seems like mere moments, the tip of his sword hovering over Nicolò’s throat.</p><p>“Well?” Nicolò sneers, baring his teeth. “Are you waiting for my permission? You seemed perfectly capable of impaling me last time—”</p><p>“Not here, you <em>imbecile</em>,” the man hisses, sheathing his sword and staring down at him. “Somewhere safer. Private.”</p><p>“As if anywhere with you is safe.”</p><p>The man rolls his eyes heavily. “I would ask you to indulge me, but you seem incapable of any kindness.”</p><p>They eventually settle on a field near Nicolò’s house, familiar territory for Nicolò and away from prying eyes for the man. They stand there, watching each other warily. Nicolò can feel something strange buzzing under his skin, something he’s never felt in this life before. The last time he felt it, well, was when he first set eyes on the man before him.</p><p>“Who are—”</p><p>“Yusuf al-Kaysani,” the man says with an impatient wave of his hand, gaze sharp. “Or at least I used to be. In my last life. You are?”</p><p>“Nicolò di Genova. Why are you here?” He replies without missing a beat.</p><p>“You know why. This…whatever we have. This second life. We are bound together by it. Surely you must know.”</p><p>“As if I’d want a life bound to <em>you</em>,” Nicolò says derisively.</p><p>“Do you think I want this as well?” Yusuf hisses, eyes flashing as he steps forward. “A life with you, my enemy? We have no choice. You must feel it, this, this thing inside us. A burning fire. It kindles when we meet, of that much I am certain, and I think it is something—"</p><p>“No,” Nicolò interrupts angrily. “We always have a choice, and this is one where I will chose no.”</p><p>Yusuf’s eyes narrow as he straightens, looking Nicolò up and down.</p><p>“You’re a fool,” he says coldly. “If you think you can deny fate, then perhaps it’s better that I stay away from you.”</p><p>“Deny <em>fate</em>? This is not fate,” Nicolò snaps. “Our meeting is fate, our connection is perhaps fate, but your telling me that I have no choice? That is hardly fate. It is only control, and I will <em>not</em> be controlled.”</p><p>Yusuf scoffs. “As I said, a fool.”</p><p>Nicolò can feel his anger hanging heavy in the air, and his hands curls into fists behind his back. Yusuf may have a sword, but Nicolò will never go down without a fight. He will die honorably, no matter the circumstance.</p><p>But Yusuf doesn’t draw his sword. He merely gives Nicolò one last scathing look before turning on his heel and leaving. With every step he takes, Nicolò can feel something wind tighter and tighter in his chest. But he lets him walk away. Maybe it’s defiance, maybe it’s anger, but whatever it is, it keeps Nicolò from Yusuf for years. It’s nearly a decade later when Nicolò steps away from his village and feels something loosen deep within him. Just a hint of something, like the first twist of a thread being unspooled. But it’s enough to propel Nicolò forward on journey where he knows neither the destination nor his goal.</p><p>He wanders where life takes him, and it takes him to Yusuf. Yusuf, lying off to the side of a small road, half his innards spilling out into the dirt. Nicolò would think him dead, were it not for thrum of something deep in his own chest that taps out an excited rhythm. <em>He is alive. He must be</em>.</p><p>“Yusuf?”</p><p>Yusuf’s eyes flutter open and he jolts at the sight of Nicolò kneeling carefully next to him.</p><p>“You found me. I…I thought you wanted n-nothing to do with this. With me,” he says hoarsely. Nicolò’s hands hover uncertainly over the wound, gaze flicking up to survey Yusuf’s face.</p><p>“I don’t.”</p><p>“And yet y-you’re here. What has changed?”</p><p>Nicolò frowns, leaning back on his heels. There’s nothing he can do; Yusuf is too close to death.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“Well,” Yusuf says with a laugh and a wince, “Tell me when we find each other again.”</p><p>“If—"</p><p>“N-no. <em>When</em>.”</p><p>Nicolò tilts his head at this, surprised at Yusuf’s confidence. He nods mutely and that seems to be enough for Yusuf, who nods back and closes his eyes, relaxing. There’s a beat of peace, a moment suspended between them where everything is right for a single instant in time. Nicolò feels as though he is finally where he should be, where he has been trying to be for all this life and perhaps the last as well.</p><p>But then the moment disappears with Yusuf’s last breath. And Nicolò is left kneeling in the middle of the road with the unsatisfying sense of being incomplete humming through his veins.</p><p> </p><p>3.</p><p> “We meet again.”</p><p>Nicolò jerks himself to his feet, sword unsheathed and extended before he recognizes the man before him. Yusuf, alive and well. Huh. He’d been wondering how long it’d take.</p><p>“On the same side, it seems,” Nicolò remarks casually, letting his sword arm fall slightly as he notes Yusuf’s clothing. “Pity, I was hoping to live a longer life this time.”</p><p>The statement comes out less grating than he’d intended and Yusuf’s laugh startles him.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He pauses and looks Nicolò up and down, eyes lingering on his sword. “Fight with me. I’ve seen you battle in another life, but I want to see you in this one.”</p><p>“You want to die at my hands again? I would think once is enough.”</p><p>“Who says I will be the one dying?” Yusuf’s grin is a little too sharp to be kind, and yet Nicolò can’t help feeling just a little excited as Yusuf draws his own sword. He doesn’t understand what’s going on between them, why they keep coming back to each other again and again. But a fight, a battle with weapons and wit and skill; this is something he understands well.</p><p>A new respect blooms for Yusuf in the short time they fight, the heavy steps of their feet and their grunts filling the air. Yusuf is good. <em>Very</em> good. Not that Nicolò isn’t good too, but he could definitely learn a thing or two from him. And judging by how winded Yusuf is when Nicolò has him backed up against a tree trunk, longsword pressed to his neck, Yusuf has some things to learn too.</p><p>The urge to end Yusuf, to slit his throat as Nicolò did before, is still there, but something stops him. The image of Yusuf lying dead in the dirt flashes before his eyes, and the feeling of living a life alone in his absence clenches in Nicolò’s heart. So, he steps away, carefully sheathing his blade.</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“You are good,” Yusuf pants out. His lips tick into a grin. “You could be better.”</p><p>Nicolò snorts, knowing his words come from a place of respect. “As could you.”</p><p>And just like that, a tentative balance is struck. Not to say that they fall together easily; they fight with each other, against each other, all to the point where it’s a miracle they haven’t been the reason for each other’s death since the beginning. But most importantly, they learn from each other and improve, and Nicolò’s pleased to find that they make a formidable team when working as one. It’s a blessing, as the lives they live seem to be fraught with war more often than not. So they fight and they protect and they live as best they can, side-by-side.</p><p>Their tentative friendship makes finding each other easier in the next life. And the next, and the next, and the ones after that. Languages change, cities fall, people die, but Yusuf becomes the one constant that Nicolò can count on. And Nicolò begins to appreciate Yusuf more and more, a closer friendship forming and standing the tests of time. The only anchor in a sea of change.</p><p>It’s not easy, especially when one of them dies early on, leaving the other to wander through the rest of life alone and cold. But for the most part, it’s better than Nicolò thought it would be. It’s good.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“I’m surprised that we haven’t killed each other again,” Yusuf remarks as they relax one day by their campfire, taking shelter for the night in their journey towards the neighboring village.</p><p>Nicolò hums, preoccupied with sharpening his blade. “As am I.”</p><p>“What changed?” Yusuf’s tone is all casual curiosity, but his gaze is sharp, knowing. He has an intense look in his eyes, the one Nicolò’s come to understand means that he’s latched onto something and will not back down until he gets an answer. Nicolò tilts his head, stone sliding smoothly along his blade.</p><p>“Perhaps I found killing you unworthy of my time.”</p><p>Yusuf barks out a laugh at that, throwing his head back. For a moment, the line of his throat glistening in the firelight is mesmerizing in Nicolò’s eyes.</p><p>“You wound me.”</p><p>“But I don’t kill you,” Nicolò adds with a grin.</p><p>“No,” Yusuf says quietly. His gaze is softer now, fixed on Nicolò almost affectionately. “No, you do not.”</p><p>Something lurches deep within Nicolò at that. But he doesn’t respond, and the conversation ends there, forgotten in favor of sleep and survival and the general trappings of life. And yet, Nicolò can’t seem to shake Yusuf’s inquiry from his mind, no matter how hard he tries.</p><p>
  <em>What changed?</em>
</p><p>His answer to Yusuf was a half-truth. Their short time together had made him realize quickly that killing Yusuf would make his own life harder to live. But there’s something more to it, an inkling that has grown into a firm certainty: life with Yusuf is better. Warmer, fuller, kinder and better. There is no doubt that Nicolò is a better man with Yusuf by his side.</p><p>And perhaps it is selfish, but Nicolò’s grown to enjoy their close camaraderie, the teasing laughs and gentle banter that they can share alongside the harsh jut of their weapons in battle, protecting each other the best ways they know how. Though, perhaps there is something…different about what they have together.</p><p>Something deep in his bones tells him that enjoying the feeling of Yusuf’s eyes on him in the quiet moments they share, the quiet rasp of callused skin over his shoulder when he awakens violently from a nightmare, lies beyond what one might qualify as a deep friendship. Nicolò ponders this endlessly at nights when he can’t sleep, or on long journeys where a comfortable silence between the two of them is their best company. Are they merely close friends, bound together by destiny? Or is it something more?</p><p>Nicolò cannot come to a sound conclusion. But by that point it hardly matters. He has more pressing problems, namely the arrow piercing his eye into his skull, product of a midnight ambush where he had shielded Yusuf without a second thought. The pain is unbearable, so severe than he can barely feel Yusuf’s hands cupping his face, cradling his body close.</p><p>“Nicolò, you fool, you imbecile—” Yusuf’s curses transition abruptly into languages that Nicolò can’t parse. Yes, Nicolò might be a fool, but the pain he feels is nothing compared to the satisfaction knowing that he protected Yusuf the best he could. He is alive and unhurt. That’s what matters.</p><p>As everything begins to become hazy, Yusuf’s voice an unintelligible murmur in the backdrop, Nicolò expects to feel only relief, as he has before in the face of death. And yet a sudden jolt of fear wracks his mind. What will Yusuf do in his absence?</p><p>The logical part of his mind answers easily; Yusuf mostly likely do what Nicolò does when he’s left behind. He’ll survive and wait for death and be born again. It’s nothing either of them haven’t faced many times before. But Nicolò finds himself worrying, inexplicably. And for a moment, just for the briefest moment, Nicolò wishes that Yusuf would be the one dying in his arms, only so that he could spare Yusuf the burden of living alone, in a world where they cannot be together.</p><p>The thought is unprecedented, odd enough that Nicolò jolts in Yusuf’s arms before relaxing, a boneless feeling washing over him. Strange, Nicolò thinks to himself as he closes his good eye and everything slowly fades to black. This is all very strange.</p><p> </p><p>4.</p><p>In this life they are in Malta, living a quiet existence without war at their heels. They’re lucky in that regard; any life that contains an inkling of peace is one that they will seize and live gladly. And this life is a peaceful one, to be sure. Living on their own by the sea with a garden and goats and fruit trees that are more generous than either of them deserve. It is a good life, and Nicolò basks in it every moment he can.</p><p>The only downside of peace is that it brings time to think. To reflect and to examine on any unrest that might exist. And unfortunately, the unrest of this lifetime is in Nicolò’s heart.</p><p>With his musings from his past life interrupted so rudely, Nicolò feels as though his mind is making up for lost time. His gaze wanders and lingers on Yusuf more often than not. And sometimes Nicolò is bold, bolder than he has ever been; a curious finger ghosting down the bridge of Yusuf’s nose in his sleep, a daring hand on Yusuf’s thigh, purposefully falling asleep leaning heavily in Yusuf’s side.</p><p>Yusuf, always so sharp and observant, takes everything in stride. He meets Nicolò step for step. The day Nicolò absentmindedly offers his finger with a dab of sauce on it for Yusuf to taste, he takes Nicolò’s entire finger in his mouth, tongue swirling around the digit. Nicolò feels his heart dropping into his stomach, heat pooling low alongside his mortification. He pulls his finger away slowly, the skin slick with spit but clean, and they look at each other for a long moment.</p><p>“You think so hard,” Yusuf says carefully, “I sometimes imagine I can almost hear you.”</p><p>“I’m sure you could guess what I’m thinking, if you try hard enough,” Nicolò replies, cursing the tremble in his voice. Yusuf hums and slides closer, hip bumping gently against his.       </p><p>“Nico.” The nickname, so rare in use, causes Nicolò to freeze, heart pounding as he’s caught under Yusuf’s warm gaze. “You are always welcome to speak your mind.”</p><p>It’s an offer, a chance to speak freely with no fear. He can see it in Yusuf’s eyes; only kindness and affection, free of judgement. And yet Nicolò can’t.</p><p>“Give me—” Nicolò clears his throat carefully. “Give me time.”</p><p>Yusuf steps back quickly with a nod, always respectful. The air between them is a little more stilted, but it gives Nicolò the space to think. And when Yusuf carefully joins him on the front steps of their house one night, Nicolò knows he’s ready.</p><p>“I feel…something has changed,” Nicolò begins in an exhale. Yusuf says nothing in response, correctly sensing that Nicolò will speak more comfortably if this is more like a confession rather than a conversation.</p><p>“You are my closest friend, my only ally. What we have already undefinable in a certain way, but I can feel it changing in my eyes and I feel…muddled. Confused. I want this change, and yet I don’t. I’m not sure.”</p><p>“What’s changing for you?” Yusuf murmurs, leaning a little closer as though under a spell. His eyes shine with curiosity, not a hint of judgement there, and it’s enough to nudge Nicolò into speaking more plainly.</p><p>“How I see you. I cannot—” Nicolò cuts himself off with a panicked noise, clutching his hair. “I think of you more, not of us and how we will survive, but of you and what you like, what you want, what you <em>are</em>. I want to know you better, I want to have you and I want to give you more and I…”</p><p>“This frightens you?”</p><p>“I’ve never felt something so deeply before. Have you?”</p><p>Yusuf looks a little amused. “I have.”</p><p>“Tell me about it,” Nicolò says, a little more desperately than he means to be. A low chuckle is his response, Yusuf tilting his head as he smiles.</p><p>“May I show you instead?”</p><p>Nicolò’s heart leaps into his throat, eyes widening. Show him? That’s…that means…</p><p>At his slow nod, Yusuf slides his hand up the line of Nicolò’s jaw, movements careful and open. He projects every motion he takes, as though working with a wild animal. Nicolò holds eerily still, breath caught in his throat.</p><p>“It frightens me too,” Yusuf confesses in a whisper as he leans closer. His breath fans against Nicolò’s cheek. “How intensely I feel for you. But I can’t help but feel this is the right choice. And if it isn’t, I have no doubt that we will find a space with each other. Not because we are fated to be at each other’s sides, but because we choose to be.”</p><p>The words, a callback to that conversation so many lives ago, makes Nicolò let out his breath in a relieved exhale. His heart races in his chest, but it’s no longer from fear because this is Yusuf; he <em>knows</em> Yusuf. They’ve been together for so long, it feels like the easiest thing to choose him.  And they’ll keep on choosing each other not because they have to, but because they want to. In whatever way they want.</p><p>Yusuf must seem something shift in Nicolò’s eyes, an understanding coming to fruition, because he moves. Ever so carefully, his lips brush against Nicolò’s, barely even a kiss.</p><p>Well. That won’t do.</p><p>Nicolò exhales against Yusuf’s mouth, pressing in closer. His nose nudges against Yusuf’s cheek as Yusuf laughs, startled but pleased by Nicolò’s reciprocation. Yusuf wraps his arms around Nicolò, one hand snaking up his jaw while the other rests on his back. It’s is warm, firm, and everything Nicolò wants it to be. He feels himself being maneuvered as he licks into Yusuf’s mouth, tugged to his feet before they both stagger back to the bed. It isn’t until he feels soft cloth against his back that his eyes open. The moonlight through the window reflects in his gaze as he looks down at Nicolò, eyes shimmering.</p><p>“Good?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Nicolò murmurs, tugging him closer and losing himself in the heat of their tongues tangling. Every kiss, every touch is exhilarating and Nicolò can’t help but berate himself for taking so long to get here. It feels so right, every movement a step closer to Yusuf, to binding them together in an embrace that he never wants to leave.</p><p>First times are always memorable, even when they aren’t the best. And Yusuf’s teeth scraping down Nicolò’s throat, his hand fisted around Nicolò’s cock, the feeling of Yusuf’s hair under Nicolò’s fingers; it’s all amazing in its own right.</p><p>Nicolò spills over Yusuf’s fingers faster than he expects. They stare at each other for a moment before Yusuf laughs, affection overflowing in his gaze. Nicolò shakes his head, cheeks flushed as he muffles Yusuf’s giggles with his mouth and flips them over, resting himself atop Yusuf’s hips. Yusuf quickly stops laughing after that. It’s far from perfect. But it’s still very, <em>very</em> good. And it gets better as the years go by, time favoring them until Nicolò can’t remember what it was like to not love Yusuf, to not feel him at his back every morning they wake up. It’s pure bliss, and Nicolò finds himself wishing every day that this life be the longest, the one that never ends. But it isn’t to be.</p><p>Mundane lives mean mundane deaths, and Nicolò finds himself, a seasoned warrior, being bested by typhoid. He would laugh if he could spare the breath. But he can’t, so he lays in Yusuf’s arms, listening to him curse Nicolò’s illness in his native language as well as a few more languages he can’t quite place.</p><p>“You fell ill so quickly. You are a fool,” Yusuf says thickly, no real heat behind his words.</p><p>“God could not have conspired to create a greater idiot,” Nicolò agrees, weakly lifting his hand to Yusuf’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>They both know his time is coming, can feel it in the air, thick and cloying.</p><p>“Don’t be,” Yusuf murmurs, turning his head to kiss Nicolò’s palm. “Never apologize for this, <em>hayati</em>.”</p><p>Despite that, the only words that Nicolò can repeat in his mind as he goes, lips and throat too dry to voice them, are <em>I’m sorry, I love you, I wish I could stay, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry</em>.</p><p> </p><p>5.</p><p>Meeting Andromache and Quynh after centuries where Yusuf and Nicolò could only rely on each other is a jarring experience. Not just the fact that there are others like them, but how different they are. Andromache and Quynh are so old, worn and wise in a way that makes Nicolò feel like a fragile newborn. But they are kin, in a way, and kin are always welcome.</p><p>The four of them are warriors, and it’s a relief to have other people to talk shop to, people who understand their feelings and urges down to the very marrow of their bones. Andromache and Quynh slot themselves neatly in Nicolò and Yusuf’s lives, and they begin to live a little more strategically with Andromache in them. She gives them purpose where they were once aimless, helping them see ways to help the world be better in ways that don’t just involve dying on the battlefield over and over again. It’s challenging work, but Nicolò can’t help but feel excited to do something new for a change. They save people, they make friends, they make the world a better place one person at a time with Andromache’s help.</p><p>Nicolò is thankful for her. But now, in this moment, he curses her existence and the life she has wrought upon them as Yusuf lies on the ground, a bullet deep in his chest.</p><p>“Yusuf, hold on, please just <em>hold on</em>,” Nicolò gasps out, pressing down hard on the wound.</p><p>“No use, Nico.” Yusuf licks his lips shakily, sweating dripping down his brow. “My time is up, I think.”</p><p>“You can still make it, we can run—”</p><p>“Nicolò.”</p><p>Nicolò’s shoulders slump forward as he exhales. Yusuf’s right; the wound is too great. He won’t survive.</p><p>“I wish we didn’t have to do this,” Nicolò murmurs as his eyes squeeze shut. He feels Yusuf’s hand slide up his arm before settling at the back of his neck, a warm comforting weight.</p><p>“But we do.” Yusuf’s thumb inches up to run across the line of Nicolò’s jaw. “Don’t have too much fun without me when I’m gone, hm?”</p><p>Nicolò laughs, a quiet, broken thing as he leans down. Yusuf meets him halfway, lips pressing together in a more desperate fashion than they are used to. They both prefer to take their time with things, but as Yusuf runs his tongue along the edges of Nicolò’s teeth, Nicolò knows their time is running short.</p><p>“I will be thinking of you as I wait,” Yusuf murmurs against his lips, warm breath fanning against Nicolò’s skin. “In that liminal space where I wait for you to propel me into the next life, I will think of you always. Your smile, your eyes and how they shine like stars, your strength and your hands and what you could do to me. How you could kill me and how you could save me, all so beautifully. Among other things.”</p><p>“Among other things,” Nicolò agrees with a stuttering laugh, burying his face in Yusuf’s neck. “You’re insatiable. I love you.”</p><p>“And I love you.”</p><p>And that’s how Yusuf goes in this life: held tight in Nicolò’s arms, his blood staining both their clothes beyond repair. Nicolò doesn’t let go, <em>refuses</em> to let go even as the warmth drains from Yusuf’s body.</p><p>It’s cold. Everything is so cold.</p><p> </p><p>6.</p><p>Times change, and Nicolò and Yusuf change with it. Eventually they find Booker and then they find Nile. What once was two becomes a clan of six, a tight-knit family of people bound together by destiny. Nicolò knows that his ties to Yusuf are by far the strongest, but he’s hardly complaining. Having more people to rely on is always a blessing. And they need all the blessings they can get as the world changes. Weapons become more powerful, people become more greedy—“People are hardly more greedy these days,” Yusuf chides Nicolò as they lie together in bed, trading gentle musings as the moon traces across the sky. “Mankind has always been this greedy. The tools we have at our disposal just make it easier to indulge now.”—and it becomes just a little harder to survive on their own.</p><p>So, they adapt, as they always have. But that doesn’t mean they can’t make it fun.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“Nicky,” Yusuf says, catching Nicolò’s jaw with his fingers, rough and callused. “Nicky, look at me.”</p><p>Nicolò turns his face to meet Yusuf’s gaze. Yusuf is pleading, he’s desperate, he wants and wants but he just can’t have it because Nicolò will <em>never</em> bend—</p><p>“Nicky, red or blue.” Yusuf holds up an Uno wild card in his hands, the 4 colored portions of a circle vivid in the dimly lit room. “Which one should I choose?”</p><p>“Blue,” Nicolò says calmly, face impassive as Yusuf searches his expression.</p><p>“I pick red, then.”</p><p>“Uno,” Nicolò declares with a grin as he places his second to last card down.</p><p>“Fuck,” Nile hisses, desperately trying to rearrange the fat stack of cards in her hand, courtesy of a full round of +4 cards that she couldn’t pass on to Quynh. “This isn’t fair.”</p><p>“It really isn’t,” Yusuf grouses in response. Nicolò shrugs, casting his gaze around the table. Nile is out, Booker is slumped in his seat and looking rather peeved, meaning he isn’t as close to winning as he’d like to be. Yusuf is whining, which means he’s doing poorly. Which leaves…</p><p>Andy and Quynh. Both with one card left in their hands. Stellar. Andy’s had thousands of years to perfect her ironclad poker face, meaning she never reveals anything. Ever. As for Quynh, Nicolò knows he can’t hope to guess where she stands.</p><p>“Try your best, Nicky,” Quynh coos, brow arched high as she fans herself with her card. Nicolò’s eyes narrow, observing them as everyone else miserably discards cards. And then the moment has arrived. Nicolò draws a card from the deck and quickly places it down after a glance.</p><p>“I skip Quynh. Uno.”</p><p>“Oh well,” Quynh sighs, nudging Andy’s shoulder. “Take it away, darling.”</p><p>Everyone at the table explodes as Andy places her final card down (a +4 wild card) with a smirk.</p><p>“Fuck <em>that</em>,” Booker announces, heartfelt, as Quynh plants a gleeful kiss on Andy’s cheek. Yusuf gives him a betrayed look, squirming away as Nicolò tries to kiss him.</p><p>“Traitor, traitor, traitor,” he grumbles, finally letting Nicolò’s lips graze the corner of his mouth. “I’ll never forgive you.”</p><p>“Truly? I killed you so many lives ago, refused to trust you for years. And yet Uno is what drives us apart?”</p><p>“It’s the little things,” Yusuf says with a huff. Nicolò hums in agreement, perching on Yusuf’s lap as he winds his arms around Yusuf’s neck. He dips his head down, mouthing briefly at Yusuf’s jaw before a napkin comes flying in to slap Yusuf in the face.</p><p>“Get a room,” Booker sighs. Nile holds up another napkin in her fist, threatening. Nicolò only laughs, patting Nile’s shoulder as he moves to help clean up in the kitchen. The mundane joy of their group permeates the remainder of the evening, everything buoyed by the joy of being alive and having friends to experience it with. But everyone’s cheerful attitude snaps into the focus the next morning. It’s a quiet job they have on tap, a simple escort and exchange. It should be painless in theory, but things are never as easy as they seem.</p><p>Nicolò eyes the hand-off from his perch on the 7<sup>th</sup> floor, scope trained carefully on his team. It’s going well. <em>Too</em> well. There’s an uncomfortable itch behind his ear, the kind that shows up when Nicolò has no proof that something is going wrong, but he can feel that it will.</p><p>He chances taking his eyes off the team, scanning the neighboring buildings. A flash of light catches his eye across the way and Nicolò barely has the chance to duck before he the chair beside him explodes.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” he hisses, scrambling for his gun. He jams his eye in the scope and exhales. A quiet shot sounds through the air, and their assailant is dead.</p><p><em>Nicky</em>?</p><p>“We’ve been compromised,” Nicolò murmurs, eye back on his team. “Neighboring sniper is down, but we need to move <em>now</em>.”</p><p><em>Copy that. Rendezvous at the point</em>.</p><p>Andy’s voice is cool and sure. Nicolò’s hardly calm in this moment, but it’s always good to have Andy on the team with them. She radiates a quiet confidence in these kinds of situations that does wonders for the team’s morale.</p><p><em>Your paths are clear</em>, Quynh responds from their motel room, scanning camera feeds. <em>Still, watch your step</em>.</p><p>Nicolò watches as his team split and duck into alleyways that lead to their rendezvous. He makes his way down the stairs, gun gripped tight in his hand as he follows. Everyone else is already packed up in the car as he arrives. Yusuf still stands with his hand on the roof of the car, searching for Nicolò.</p><p>“Hurry!” He calls out, waving frantically. Nicolò nods, turning around and back towards the car with his gun secured in his grip. It doesn’t feel right, they shouldn’t be able to get away this easily—</p><p>There are masked men running towards them, guns outstretched. Nicolò doesn’t think, doesn’t breathe, gun lifting as he fires quickly. They fall, but there are more coming.</p><p>“Go go <em>go</em>,” he snaps, waving his hand at the car. He can’t see the others, but there’s a prickle at the back of his neck. There have to be more.</p><p>
  <em>Nicky—</em>
</p><p><em>If you don’t leave now, you won’t make it</em>. Quynh’s voice cuts Yusuf off, an unpleasant reminder of what’s at stake here.</p><p>“Go Andy, just <em>drive</em>,” Nicolò spits out as he scans the high-rises around him through his scope. He hears it before it hits him; a neat shot straight to his forehead, quick clean and nearly painless. Nearly.</p><p><strong><em>NICKY</em></strong><em>. Shit, fuck, Nicolò </em><em>ti prego, non cos<strong>ì</strong></em> <em>—</em></p><p>Nicolò tries to respond to Joe’s pleads and cries in his ears. But he can only feel gravity taking over, tugging him back to slump against the pavement. He’s so tired, it’s so easy to just close his eyes and drift away.</p><p>At least everyone else is safe. At least Yusuf is still alive. That’s all he can ask for.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“How do you it?” Nile asks hoarsely, swiping angrily at the tears on her face as they speed along the highway. “How do you just let someone you love die? And how can you watch that over and over again?”</p><p>Yusuf sighs, head bowed. Booker reaches back, a comforting hand on Yusuf’s knee.</p><p>“You just do. That’s the only way you can survive.”</p><p> </p><p>+1</p><p>Earlier in their acquaintance, when war was still uncivilized and weaponry more primitive, Yusuf had joked that were it not for Andromache, every life they would live would be infinitely more peaceful. That if she did not bring them to fight for some war, she would bring a war to them.</p><p>It was just that; a joke. And yet, Nicolò disagrees. He doesn’t tell Yusuf this, not in all their years and all their lives. It doesn’t make sense that Andy and Quynh are the sources of barbarity in their lives, not when he and Yusuf first met on the battlefield, not when Nicolò feels a phantom ache for a weapon in his hands, something sharp and lethal even in the lives where there is no need for it.</p><p>He thinks of this now as he lies on the ground, hands fluttering helplessly over the bullet wounds scattered on his body. They may think they are creatures of peace, of solitude, and yet they aren’t. None of them are, he or Yusuf or Andy or Quynh or Booker. Even Nile. They are beings of fire, attuned to the cruelties of violence in a way that time will never wear down. He and Yusuf will spend an eternity—or however long they are given together—fighting a battle they cannot win and that will never change, no matter if Andy is at their side or not—</p><p>“Nicky,” Yusuf says hoarsely, yanking Nicolò out of his contemplative daze. The pain brings everything hurtling back into sharp focus, lights sickeningly bright as he watches blood seep a little too quickly from a bullet wound on his thigh. Femoral artery, most likely. He won’t survive.</p><p>Nicolò looks up as Yusuf coughs wetly, blood dribbling from his mouth. “So we finally get to die together,” he grits out, dragging himself closer to Yusuf’s side. Yusuf lets out a whistling exhale through his teeth, half pained half amused as he reaches out. Their hands grip each other tight.</p><p>“It’s…surprising that we, we still have firsts,” he says breathlessly, tugging Nicolò closer. Nicolò grunts, pulling Yusuf into his arms. He dips his head down, their foreheads pressing together gently.</p><p>“This is not one of the good ones.”</p><p>“It’s good in s-some ways.” Yusuf’s voice is warm despite the pain, something he always manages for Nicolò. “I don’t h-have to live…the rest of this l-life knowing that you aren’t…in it.”</p><p>Nicolò sighs, hopelessly endeared even as he brushes away the blood dripping from Yusuf’s lips. “You are an incurable romantic. As always, <em>tesoro</em>.”</p><p>“You love it.” Yusuf’s smile is bright despite the blood staining his teeth. Nicolò places his hand over Yusuf’s, both pressing down on one of the bullet wounds to his chest.</p><p>“No use,” Yusuf gasps out. “I won’t last much…longer.”</p><p>“Neither will I.” Nicolò’s eyes screw shut as a wave of nausea courses through him. It won’t be long before he loses consciousness, he’s sure of it. He feels Yusuf lift their entwined hands, pressing a kiss to the slick, bloody skin.</p><p>“Do you remember wh-where to meet?”</p><p>Nicolò manages to laugh, eyes fluttering open. Their agreed-upon location to rendezvous in every life is seared into his mind, so ingrained that Nicolò thinks he couldn’t forget it even if he tried.</p><p>“How could I forget?”</p><p>Their lips meet, almost frantic for a moment as Yusuf’s fingers clutch weakly at Nicolò’s hair. Nicolò sighs into his mouth, tugging the kiss into something softer and sweeter as he lowers Yusuf gently to the ground before settling next to him. He brushes his thumb over the arch of Yusuf’s cheek as he moves a hairsbreadth away. Yusuf’s gaze is beginning to grow hazy, short breaths puffing against Nicolò’s skin as his eyelids flutter. Nicolò can feel his eyes growing heavy as well, every beat of his heart taking more and more effort.</p><p>“Love you,” Nicolò manages before relaxing, barely hearing Yusuf’s murmured response. As he feels himself sinking deeper into the clutches of death, Nicolò lets himself relax, content in the knowledge that they will see each other soon. For once, neither of them must wade through a life devoid of the other. For now, all they must do is die. And then they will live again. Together.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>disclaimer: i speak no italian or arabic so these translations are by virtue of the internet</p><p><i>hayati</i>- my life (arabic)</p><p><i>ti prego, non così</i>-  please, not like this (italian)</p><p><i>tesoro</i>- treasure (italian)</p><p> <br/>come find me on <a href="https://shizuoi.tumblr.com/"> tumblr</a> if you want to chat!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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